The Careers
by MarigoldStevens
Summary: Because ruthless killing machines weren't made in a day. A collection of one shots about our favorite Careers.
1. Power

**So this is going to be a collection of one shots about the Careers (and yes, that includes plenty of Clato to fuel your little hearts desires). I'm considering adding onto "A Match Made In Heaven", but this is my priority right now. Thanks so much to my fabulous beta reader muentiger, and I hope you enjoy! **_  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>"Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts...perhaps the fear of a loss of power."<em>

_-John Steinbeck_

* * *

><p>Marvel was nine when he first learned the meaning of power.<p>

He and his sister, Sapphire, were at the technically illegal pre-training center. He was acting cool and confident, even though he was tightly knotted inside as he gripped the spear. After all, he had only used blunt knifes and a sword before, weapons that he could keep in his complete control. But she had never been a good actress, and she was openly shaking as the trainer tried to get her to throw the knife.

"Sapphire, you are 10. You will enter the reaping in two years, and you will not disgrace this District," the trainer said sharply, bent down and glaring. Sapphire shook her head, the brown ponytails slapping her face.

"It's scary!" she protested, poking out her bottom lip in that way that makes everything go her way. It was the sole reason why she had convinced their father to not force her into heavy training until now, instead letting her slide by with lessons on poisonous plants and knot tying. But now the years had caught up with her, and she could not pout her way out.

She evidently did not see how utterly ridiculous she looked, a child of 10 with pigtails and a fluffy dress who did not even know how to properly throw a knife. The other Careers gave her looks of pure undisguised disgust as she continued to behave like a petulant child. No one in District 1 questioned training. Ever. Even the obnoxious little blonde bouncy one-Glimmer, he recalled-could defend herself rather nicely with a vast array of weapons. For once, he felt like the superior sibling.

Marvel pretended not to stare as the trainer hissed something and roughly grabbed her arm, dragging her outside. He feigned fiddling around with his spear, all the while edging closer to the door, trying to catch snippets of their conversation while staying far enough away to where it was not technically breaking a rule. He had always been a stickler for those.

"I'm not doing it!" the words had barely left his sister's lips when he heard the sharp, inevitable smack of the trainer's hand connecting with her cheek. He quickly slunk away, back in front of his target. Well, it seemed that his sister's days of getting everything she wanted on a gold platter (because silver wasn't good enough) were gone. He could not stop the smirk from twisting onto his face at the realization that they were now on the same level. No, no they were not. She was beneath him now, because she was playing on his playground. Seems her years of avoiding the training center hadn't worked in her favor after all.

He looked down at the spear in his hand, rubbing his hands over it. He closed his eyes, remembering his trainer's words: _You know exactly what to do, Marvel, you just need to trust yourself_. A surge of bubbling, red-hot feeling suddenly found its way into him, sliding down to his fingertips as he reared back, releasing the spear. He closed his eyes, not ready to see the spear clatter on the floor or the smirking faces of the other tributes-in-training at his failure.

Silence. He slowly opened his eyes to find them all staring at him, their faces twisted into something he did not recognize. It was not until he looked at the target and the spear lodged in it-bullseye-that he understood. Envy. Even Glimmer had stopped to raise an eyebrow at him, looking far too calculating for an eight year old ditz. He let a smirk grace his features for the second time again as he drunk it in, the feeling of total success. The feeling of being on top, of being envied. The knowledge that he was no longer the skinny, awkward boy to be taken out back behind the training center and put in stacked fights just so they could laugh at his failure. No, he was not that person anymore.

For years after, he longed for that feeling again. Craved it. It's intoxicating, the knowledge that you were the best, the one to beat. And, for once, the Games were more than just something he would rather not be apart of; they were something that could fuel him with a lifetime of that feeling. He quickly advanced with the spear, surpassing the oldest tribute in training and getting praise from even the most acrimonious of trainers. But it was in vain, for the awareness of the absolute power he could hold did not come back to him.

He would not feel it again until his name was plucked out of the Reaping Bowl and he walked onto the stage.

**What did you think? Review and tell me! **


	2. And Then There Was One

**I'm so so sorry it took so long. All this week was about colorguard tryouts (I made it! Yay!), but now hopefully I can get on more. Here's the Clato (maybe not as much as you were hoping, but it's a start) I promised. Thanks again to muentiger, my fabulous beta reader! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. **

_Ten._

Cato scanned the Cornucopia, quickly finding a set of deadly-looking throwing knives. He made eye contact with Clove and nodded at them.

_Nine._

She gave him a smile of thanks that quickly morphed into a smirk as she looked around at the other tributes.

_Eight._

Marvel's beady eyes were locked on a spear, while Glimmer was biting her puffy lip and looking blankly into the distance. Cato mentally groaned, did District 1 not have a single intelligent female that could have volunteered for her?

Seven.

The girl from District 4-Coral-was squinting her eyes at the other Tributes, trying to come off sly and smart, but really just looking kind of pathetic.

_Six._

Her partner-Tide-was busy appraising the vast array of weapons, even though Cato knew he was the type to fiddle around at the Bloodbath and avoid getting in any immediate danger. Wimp. He would be dead in the minutes that followed the countdown. Perhaps Cato would get the chance to see him die at his hands.

_Five._

Cato tensed, ready to get his hand on a particularly powerful looking sword, envisioning what damage he could do to the other tributes with it. He grinned, a malicious grimace that made his eyes ignite.

_Four._

He looked over upon hearing a little laugh, only to see an amused looking Clove. Apparently she knew exactly what he was thinking, as she nodded toward Fire Girl.

_Three._

The message was clear: She's mine. Cato shook his head. _No._ Fire Girl was his skill, his neck to snap, his head to wrench back. His screams to hear.

_Two._

She glared at him, clearly upset. Whatever. Lover Boy was hers for the taking.

_One._

Let the Games begin.

Cato was off his plate, only focused on the sword, the acquisition of that gleaming weapon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marvel already spearing some screaming girl and Glimmer snatching up a silver bow and arrow. Huh. Maybe she had not been as brainless as he had thought.

A sense of absolute power rushed into his system as soon as he grasped the hilt and whirled around, plunging it into the stomach of the District 5 boy. Blood soaked through his shirt as the boy began gasping, falling forward until he lay prostrate and unmoving at his feet. A knife was sticking out of his back.

Cato looked up to give a quick nod to Clove, but she was currently occupied. The blood in his veins froze. Occupied with _Fire Girl_. No. She was his! This had been made clear. She was his kill!

It seemed that Fate agreed as she held up her backpack in defence, Clove's knife lodging deep in it, as she ran away. Clove gave a howl of frustration, turning around and flicking the knife in her hands, the sun glinting off the metal before it stuck in the back of District 8 boy.

He was approaching the District 6 boy, about to give a nice, gory show for the Capital, when something caught his eye. Tide, sword in hand, snuck up behind a dark haired girl as she stabbed mercilessly at the dying body of a tribute. Clove.

Rage welled up inside of Cato-this isn't how it went, it was far too early in the Games for betrayal. He quickly sliced the throat of the boy-not the gruesome death he had intended, but there were more important matters at hand.

"Clove!" he yelled, but she did not hear him, her mind fixated on the blood running through her fingers as she cut repeatedly into the girl's flesh. Tide was rapidly approaching, a grim look of determination on his face as he raised the sword, the blade reflecting a ray into Cato's eyes.

Caution thrown to the wind, Cato's feet shook the ground, not going fast enough for his liking. He propelled himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the grass.

"Traitor," he spat out, now sitting above the squirming teenager. The bloodlust drained out of Tide's eyes, replaced by fear.

"No, no, I wasn't going to-" Cato's hand gripped his throat, cutting him off.

"You know, I wouldn't have cared if it was Marvel or Glimmer-they will be dead soon enough anyway. But you picked the wrong Tribute to go after," he growled, not waiting another second before plunging the sword into his stomach.

"Oh? So what are _you_ going to do when _you_ have to kill her?" Tide gasped, eyelids fluttering shut. "See Cato, she is your weakness. You act all big and strong, but, really, you are so easily broken. You care about that little psycho too much. And she's okay for now, so you're okay. But what is going to happen next time, when you don't get there fast enough?" he managed one last sneer, before his features softened, his breathing growing erratic. Cato gripped his hair, raising his head up to his.

"You little-" he began, but the cannon fired and he was talking to someone who was not capable of listening anymore.

"Where's Coral?" Clove looked over at him, sharpening one of her knives.

"Still moping about Tide. So pathetic," she replied, making a snorting noise in the back of her throat. "Who killed him anyways?" she looked up at Cato, blowing off the tip of the blade, and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged.

"No idea," he said nonchalantly. "But, you know, I don't really care. He got on my nerves anyway. Not as much as Glimmer, but he was getting there." She narrowed her eyes at his nonchalant statement.

"Yeah. He must have gotten on a lot of people's nerves," she said, gently placing the knife down and picking up another one.

"What do you mean?" he grinned at her.

"Oh, you did not see? His body was like, completely torn apart. Pretty gruesome," she sighed dreamily. He cleared his throat nervously, focusing his attention back onto the sword in his hands.

"Well, you know, I never really trusted him either," she held up the weapon up in the air, tilting it from side to side.

"Can't imagine why," she mused, admiring the way it shined in the moonlight.

That night when she slept, curled up, her nose wrinkling slightly and little wisps of dark hair around her face, he promised himself to keep anything like that from happening again. He was still unsettled, the image of him not getting there fast enough, of her eyes widening as the sword was driven into her back, of her cannon firing, burned into his head. It did not matter that, in the back of his mind, a pesky little thought wriggled around: Only one can come out alive. It did not matter that he wanted to win, _needed_ to win, and so did she, because laying here asleep, she looked so innocent and young. He did not want to think about why it mattered so much to him, why _she_ mattered so much to him. All that mattered was that he got there fast enough.

**Review please!**


End file.
